Read It, and Weep

A contraption called the Kindle promises to reinvent the way we read books. I’d rather use it for kindling.

by Philip Gulley

I have been reading books since the age of 6, when Mrs. Wilma Mann, my first-grade teacher, taught me how. Shortly there-after, I acquired my first library card, and I’ve been at it ever since, working my way through the stacks. My interest in books was heightened by my mother, who believed it was a wiser course to bribe children than harangue them, and gave me a dime for each book I read. She stopped that practice when I turned 10, but I’m still reading.

Like all people in love, I assume others share my obsession, but I’m surprised to learn how many people never crack the cover of a book. I once attended a retirement party where I asked the retiree his plans for the future.

“I’m going to finish my book,” he said.

“Oh, are you writing a book?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said. “Reading one.”

It is theoretically possible to make it through life without books. It is also possible to make it through life without indoor plumbing, but why would anyone want to? This is why I am mystified by people who have the ability to read, but don’t. What do they talk about on first dates? Whom do they quote when they want to impress someone? What do they do while waiting for their names to be called at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles?

The folks at Amazon.com are gleefully preparing for the end of the book. That’s an odd thing to be happy about for a company that sells books, but its money is now on the Kindle, a “wireless reading device” you can buy for $399.99. It’s lighter and thinner than a typical paperback, displays one page at a time, and has a few buttons for the reader to accidentally hit and be hurled forward a hundred pages. Provided he or she knows how, the Kindle owner can download a book for $9.99, or $3 more than the paperback version, which puts the Kindle owner behind $402.99 right out of the gate.

If the Kindle takes off, it will require a host of changes we have not yet considered, none of them good. With books gone, upon what will the president place his hand when sworn in? Some hatemonger sent me an e-mail warning that Barack Obama, if elected president, would place his hand on a Koran when sworn into office. It’s a bald lie, of course, but frankly, I don’t care whether the president places his or her hand on a Bible, a Koran, or a Betty Crocker cookbook, so long as it isn’t a Kindle. I want that hand to rest on paper while pledging to “preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States,” another piece of paper for which I have high regard. (I know the Constitution is written on parchment, not paper, but humor me.)

While we’re on the subject of paper, I should note that newspapers can be downloaded onto the Kindle. This will wreck my entire morning. At first light, I come downstairs, turn on the coffeemaker, put the leash on our dog Zipper, and retrieve the newspaper from our driveway, turning my head discreetly to give Zipper the semblance of privacy while she undertakes her constitution. I eat breakfast while reading the front section of the paper, then cozy into a comfortable chair to read the rest of it—a routine enjoyed by many of us.

But if our paper newspaper went the way of the dodo, we would have to rethink a process that took us years to hone, one we could do with our eyes shut, and often do.

But this is the least of our problems. With books gone, what will a judge throw at scofflaws? Imagine this courtroom conversation 10 years from now:

First observer: Boy, the judge was really mad at that bank robber!

Second observer: Yeah, he really threw the Kindle at him!

The phrase “throws the book at him” first appeared in a story written by Damon Runyon for the December 23, 1933 issue of Collier’s magazine. As an expression, it has served us well for 75 years, and I’m unwilling to see it die just so Amazon.com can make more money.

Do you remember the television show Hawaii Five-O? Remember what Steve McGarrett used to say to Danny Williams when they collared a bad guy?

“Book ’em, Danno.”

“Kindle ’em, Danno,” doesn’t cut it.

Bet you didn’t think of that, did you, Amazon.com?

When I was 17 years old, I bought an Eagles album, Their Greatest Hits, and a copy of Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style. The album was supplanted by the 8-track tape; the 8-track by the cassette; the cassette by the compact disc; the compact disc by the iPod. Even as I write this, some engineer somewhere is designing another device that will relegate the Kindle to the back of our closets, right next to our VCRs. Meanwhile, my Elements of Style defies obsolescence, still up-to-date and accessible after 30 years.

Here’s something else you might consider. If we get rid of books, the nation’s librarians will be out of work. While librarians are generally thought of as passive, that’s just on the outside. Inside, they are boiling cauldrons of wrath just waiting for an excuse to rumble. Do you want millions of librarians loose on the streets, throwing books at us?

Speaking of libraries, what will become of them if the Kindle succeeds? Copyright laws, written by lobbyists and passed through a Congress beholden to big money, will prevent libraries from downloading books and sharing them for free with patrons, which will effectively make literature and information inaccessible to the poor. Books will become like healthcare in this country, available to some and not others. Congress might eventually remedy this, but it will take 50 years, and in the meantime three generations of poor children won’t know the pleasure of curling up with a good book, expanding their minds, and broadening their opportunities.

When it costs $400 to read a book, millions of people won’t. How ironic that after spending billions of dollars teaching our children to read, they might not be able to afford to. Someday, we’ll have a president who will put a Kindle in every pot, but that won’t happen anytime soon, and meanwhile, the intellectual drought will parch our land. With the divide between the rich and poor reaching Grand Canyon proportions, we’ll be separated even further into the Kindle-haves and the Kindle-have-nots.

I knew this Kindle phenomenon was bad news when I first heard of it. Any company that changes the definition of a word to mean something else cannot be trusted. Kindle, after all, is a verb, not a noun. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, kindle means to start a fire, or to stir up. The prospect of no books has me stirred up. If ever I lay my hands on a Kindle, I will use it to start a fire.